


Leave No Man Behind

by briwd



Category: NCIS, NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:23:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briwd/pseuds/briwd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's up to Tim McGee to find his boss and teammates after they've been captured by a group of thugs. Written for Fingersnaps for NFA's 2013 SeSa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave No Man Behind

**A forest outside of Stillwater, Pennsylvania**   
**Early morning, before dawn**

_Friends show their love in times of trouble, not in happiness-_   
_Euripides_

Tim McGee, handcuffed, bound to a chair in some backwoods shack, was surrounded by five thugs, drinking it up, having themselves a grand ol' time.

The leader stood in front of him, mocking one of the inspirational quotes he found on McGee's smartphone.

"You Rip This," was how the tall, goateed male pronounced the author's name before laughing. "Of  _all_ the-"

" _Euripides_ ," McGee replied, using the correct pronunciation. "Classic Greek writer-"

"You waste your time with  _that_ crap, punk?!" the leader said, laughing, before backing up and making a run at him.

McGee readied himself - and his gut - the best he could, but he still felt the thug's kick to his abdomen.

McGee fell to the ground - again - but stayed awake. Aware.

It didn't feel too bad, he thought, as the goons surrounded him in a circle. He could get up.

Another goon kicked him in the face, giving him a black eye that would stick around awhile.

The leader handed off the phone to one of his compatriots.

"Here's  _one_  the sissy typed into his phone," yelled the goon, between swigs of beer, looking at the phone's screen.

"'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.' By William Shakespeare."

"Heh," the second-in-charge scoffed. "I never gave a  _rip_  about that crap. Total waste of time. Got a football scholarship anyway-"

"We're losing  _time_ ," yet another goon yelled. "Make this fed find what the big boss is looking for on this computer-"

"C'mon!" said the lead goon who kicked McGee in his abdomen, "gotta cut loose once in a while!"

"Say, here's another gem from Dr. Phil's journal, fellas," smirked the beer-swilling goon. "'Individually, we are one drop. Together, we are an ocean.' By rye-no-suckey-satan-ono."

"Ono? Is that that dude from U2?" the face-kicking goon smirked. "I  _hate_ U2."

"Bet you  _love_ the money the big boss wires us," the ringleader said. "And if we don't get that information, we ain't gettin'  _PAID_."

The ringleader pulled McGee up, and threw him against the wall.

"Fed," he said. "McGee. Whatever the hell your name is, doesn't matter. What  _does_ matter is you're gonna get on that computer, download exactly what we tell you to, and if you cooperate  _maybe_ we'll tell you where to find your friends...so you up for cooperation? Or you gonna keep your mouth shut and let them take their chances?"

McGee glared at the man, then said two words.

"Ryunosuke Satoro."

"Huh?"

"The writer's name is Ryunosuke Satoro," McGee answered the ringleader, properly pronouncing the author's name. "The quote is individually we are one drop-"

" _You're_ the drop, punk," the ringleader said, before slapping McGee around a few times, "and we're the bottle of lay-the-smack-down-on-your-candy-"

"Individually we are one drop."

McGee, though beaten around, wasn't intimidated nor impressed by the thugs before him. He wasn't about to let them win the day.

Especially with the distant red and blue lights he saw through the window, quickly closing in.

"The rest of the quote? Together, we are an ocean."

"Well, Dr. Phil, I don't see yer ocean coming to sweep you outta here," the ringleader said, grabbing McGee by his shirt collar, and throwing him against the wall for a seventh time. "All I see" - he looked around - "are my  _friends_. And  _you_. And  _we_ outnumber you-"

"Uh, Boss," said one of those goons, looking out the window. "We got-"

" _SHUT UP_!" the leader yelled, then turned back to McGee.

"So if you're smart" - the ringleader threw McGee back into the chair in front of the laptop - "you'll get to work, save your miserable self, and take me up on that chance that I might, just  _MIGHT_ , tell you where your friends are."

McGee got himself back up, and glared at the man.

"You're the one who needs to be smart," McGee replied, "because my tide is about to come in."

Moments later, the shack outside the small town of Stillwater lit up like Christmas with red, blue and white lights invading every window, crevice and crack.

_"STILLWATER POLICE!"_

_"FBI!"_

_"NCIS!"_

**The day before, late afternoon**   
**Stillwater**   
**Jackson Gibbs' store**

The sign on the front door said 'WE'RE CLOSED'.

Given that his son was missing and that he was worried sick, there was no way Jackson Gibbs could go about business as usual.

In the backroom of the store, NCIS agents Tony DiNozzo, Ziva David and Tim McGee went over the crime scene: the inventory room, which had been the scene of a brawl just 12 hours before.

"Mr. Gibbs," McGee said to Jackson, handing him a bottled water. "Tell us again, what happened."

"There's not much to tell," Jackson said. "Leroy stopped by, said he was looking for a dead Marine and petty officer."

Leroy being Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Jackson's son, and McGee's, Tony's, and Ziva's boss.

"Leroy and I caught up, drank some coffee, and he said he was mystified about something that he couldn't really talk about," Jackson continued.

"Probably the case," Tony said. "We're not really supposed to give out details like that. Unless you're on a need-to-know basis."

"Anyway, Mr. Gibbs," McGee said. "You two were talking over coffee?"

"Yeah," Jackson said. "We were talking about the new healthcare law. We went back into inventory because I needed to restock an item, and there they were."

"Who were?" Tony said.

"Four guys, big guys, wearing masks, dressed in black," Jackson said. "I don't think there was an inch of skin uncovered on them. I saw two of them jump Leroy, a third moving in, one moving behind me."

"What did the one behind you do?" Ziva asked.

"I don't know," Jackson said. "After that, I remember feeling a prick in my arm...like a needle...and I went out quick. I saw the three or was it four? thugs beating up on Leroy...and next thing I know, I woke up, it was darker outside. John - he's one of my customers - and two police officers were standing over me, while Doc Hall looked me over."

"So you could not tell their nationality?" Ziva asked.

"I couldn't tell what they were, except that they were men, and big men," Jackson said. "At least six foot, looked like they could play fullback or linebacker. And all dressed in black."

"What about your security camera?" Tony said, pointing to the camera, high in a corner of the storage room.

"You're welcome to them both," Jack replied.

McGee searched the hard drive that kept the footage for the two security cameras in the store - the other being directly behind the cash register.

Somehow, both cameras' footage had been wiped clean. Neither showed any archival footage past that morning.

"It looks like Mr. Gibbs' security system was hacked," McGee said after searching the hard drive.

"Can you trace the hacker?" Tony asked.

"It'll take a while," McGee said. "I'll contact Marcus" - Marcus Cho, one of many "technical consultants" based at NCIS's Navy Yard headquarters - "and ask him to take the lead on this."

"Careful, McExpert; you're the techie guru of NCIS. Do you want some young and eager upstart taking your title?" Tony teased.

McGee wasn't laughing.

"Someone's taken the boss," McGee replied, "and my own gut's telling me we need everybody in on this we can get."

"Isn't that what  _I'm_ supposed to say?" Tony retorted.

"We are  _all_ thinking it," Ziva interjected, "and time is getting short-"

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony noticed Jackson looking very distressed, as his doctor finished his examination.

"Jack," Tony said. "We're going to-"

"I know what you're going to say," Jack answered, wearily. "'We'll find him'. I know you'll do everything you can. I also know my son. He'll get himself out of this. You'll find him and Leroy will have the bad guys tied up when you get there."

Tony, Ziva and McGee noticed that Jack's demeanor betrayed his fear and uncertainty.

"Mr. Gibbs - Jack - I promise. We're going to find him," McGee said, firmly. "Alive and well."

Wondering how many other businesses around the store had security cameras, Tony took Ziva and checked with every business on the block.

It turned out that two stores and a barber shop across the street had cameras that looked out partially on Jack Gibbs' store; two of them showed two men, garbed in black, stepping out of a truck and running through the front door.

The key footage came from a restaurant that sat behind the store, with a camera looking out on the alley separating it from the back of Jack's store.

The footage showed the four black-garbed men shoving Gibbs into a black SUV, tinted windows, that sped away quickly.

McGee, Tony and Ziva stepped out into the alley, and had two Stillwater police deputies tape off the area between the restaurant and the store as part of the crime scene.

Of particular interest to the agents were markings from tire treads - consistent with the SUV desperately speeding away from the scene - and a dark glove and cap recovered near the door.

"It'd be nice to have Abby here," McGee mused. "She's the forensics expert-"

"She'd be too  _frantic_  to work," Tony replied.

"She will be 'frantic'  _regardless_ ," Ziva offered. "Abby has called my phone twice in the past hour. Should we not  _tell_ her-"

"Not yet," Tony said. "My call. She'll be freaked out regardless-"

"Not if I talk to her," McGee said. "Yes, she'll be worried, but not enough to keep her from doing her job. We're going to need her to look at these photos."

"And this cap and glove," Ziva said.

It turned out that one of the security cameras in the alley and another from a shop across from Jack's store got the license plates on both the SUV and the truck.

Both vehicles were discovered to have been stolen from near Penn State University a few days before.

Stillwater police then received a report about a vehicle fitting the SUV's description having run a minivan off the road and causing it to flip on its side.

The driver and his family weren't seriously injured, thankfully; he did report that the SUV was driving aggressively, and right before the incident, a truck also was speeding and 'swerving all over the road'.

Nearly an hour later, a farmer outside town reported seeing the SUV and truck drive off into the woods, passing the info to a county deputy, who in turn told Stillwater police.

"Call Abby when you get back," Tony said to McGee, as they and Ziva raced to their rental; they all were on their way to the location before the police chief could ask if they wanted backup.

Outside Stillwater, en route to the forest

As dusk approached, the NCIS trio drove to the reported location of the vehicles as fast as they could.

Tony assumed the Stillwater police would follow behind them as backup; after looking in his rearview mirror for the 11th time and seeing only no one, he told Ziva and McGee to call SPD headquarters.

"I cannot raise a connection," Ziva told Tony, causing the senior agent to curse.

"We're in a dead spot," McGee said. "No coverage at all."

"Great," Tony muttered. "The police know where those vehicles are and they know we're headed to them-"

"We should have  _waited_ ," Ziva said, "and requested police backup. Then they would have followed us and we would known they were-"

" _My_  call," Tony snapped. "We don't have  _time_. Those guys could have done  _anything_  to Gibbs-"

"We don't know how many there are-" McGee.

"My instincts tell me something bad's going on and the longer we wait the worse the odds are that we get the boss back alive," Tony replied, firm and impatient.

"We need to turn back," Ziva responded, equally as firm. " _Now_."

"Gibbs may not have  _time_  for us to turn back," Tony said, as they approached the woods where the vehicles were said to have been. "We're coming up on the place."

Tony parked the team's car just outside the spot along the woods the SUV was last seen.

There had been a short but heavy rain late that afternoon, which made the tire tracks from both vehicles easier to see. All three agents checked their weapons, and turned on their flashlights.

"We go on foot," Tony whispered as the trio went deeper into the woods, "and follow the tracks...McGee. Any phone reception at all?"

"Actually, yes," McGee replied. "One bar-wait, two. Seems as if reception is improving-"

"Call Stillwater police," Tony said, "tell them where we are, formally request backup."

Just over twenty minutes of walking and hiking later, they found a dimly lit cabin, with three vehicles in front - two which fit the descriptions of the truck and SUV near Jack's store.

"I see movement in the shed," said Ziva, who noted at least one figure moving near the front window.

"Shhh", Tony whispered.

"What," McGee said quietly.

"I hear something," Tony whispered in response. "Sounds like a click-"

The next thing Tony heard was two men jumping on Ziva and throwing her to the ground.

"MCGEE!" yelled Tony, as he turned to assist Ziva - only to glimpse, and feel, the heel of a boot hitting him square in his face before he went unconscious.

The man who knocked Tony out went to assist his two associates, who had their hands full with Ziva.

McGee, meanwhile, was in his own battle, facing off against two more men.

Tim tried to remain focused, dodging fists and feet.

_Don't turn your back. Get a good look; they're both wearing masks-though one seems to have a beard. They're both overweight; they both have bellies. They're wearing camouflage-_

McGee's internal monologue was halted by a punch to the jaw and another punch to his ribcage.

"Damn that hurts," McGee muttered, as he fell to his knees and doubled over.

The successive punch to his lower back, kick to his shins, and second punch to the jaw weren't nearly as forceful as the first pair of blows.

McGee noticed the two overweight men grossly out of breath, and thought he might be able to shake them off to help Ziva.

Instead, one of the three goons fighting Ziva peeled off and moved in on McGee, who assumed a defensive stance.

Ziva broke free and caught up to the guy, pulling him down from behind just as he cocked his fist back to punch McGee.

" _TIM_!" Ziva said, as the other four goons caught their breaths. " _RUN_!"

"No way!" McGee yelled. "I'm  _NOT_ leaving you two here-"

"Tim! Run! Hurry-"

The tallest of the goons - the leader, limping from one of Ziva's kicks to his knee - knocked her out cold with a heavy tree branch to the back of her head.

He stood over Ziva, then thought to grab her handgun; he pointed to Tony - lying unconscious on the ground nearby - cursed his associates, and yelled for one of them to grab Tony's weapon.

Finally, one of the goons who attacked Ziva caught on and did as he was told.

"Where's the other one?" the leader yelled, looking for McGee.

**Forest**

McGee was running for his life through the woods, trying to figure out how to evade the thugs, then get to the car, then get to Stillwater and contact Fornell.

He ran in a zig zag pattern, briefly hiding behind trees before sprinting, looking back every few seconds to see who was behind him.

If he had been a better outdoorsman - and not running for his life - he would have thought to head for the more dense portion of the forest, away from the road he was running parallel to.

Instead, he kept running along the dirt road, as it was his only frame of reference to get back to the rental.

Fortunately for him, that wasn't an issue just yet.

There was cell coverage here, and he opted to call Stillwater Police headquarters.

"Police?"

"Yes. Who is this?"

"Agent Tim McGee, NCIS. I need to speak to the chief-"

Even better for McGee, the chief wanted to talk with someone from the NCIS team.

"Agent McGee," the chief said, "where  _are_  you?"

McGee - running for his life, back to the rental car, still hurting from his blow to his jaw and ribs - gave them the location.

"Contact Director Vance, NCIS, and Agent Tobias Fornell, F-O-R-N-E-L-L at FBI in Quantico, Virginia," McGee said, half out of breath, and hearing the faint sounds of an engine behind him. "Tell them agents DiNozzo and David have been captured by hostiles."

"Hostiles? How many?" the chief asked, as he wrote down the info on a notepad.

"Five that I could determine," McGee said. "Two wore camouflage. Three in all black. All wore masks. Two were overweight, one of those guys had a long grey beard. Another was tall, 6-foot-5 to 6-foot-7, not fat; the other two guys looked stocky and lots of muscle."

"Where are you now?"

"Running to our rental," McGee said, as he heard a truck heading for him.

Unfortunately for McGee, the goons's supplier thought to give them night vision goggles - so they were able to track him in their truck, which they jumped into after securing Tony and Ziva.

He looked back to verify what he hoped was his mind playing tricks, and tripped over a log.

McGee, momentarily stunned, collected himself, and crawled two feet over to where his phone fell on the ground; it was still on, and he hadn't lost the connection to SPD.

"Chief," McGee yelled, as he saw headlights approach from the approaching truck. "Rental has GPS. We're probably a mile and a half into the woods from the location where the SUV was last sighted-"

The truck stopped six inches from his feet; the leader and the two stocky goons poured out the back, guns drawn.

McGee reached for his gun, but didn't find it in his back waist.

"Looking for something, boy?" the lead goon growled, then nodding to his associate. "Take care of him."

McGee tried to get up; he doubled over from the pain, then went unconscious by a kick to his head.

The leader took McGee's phone and turned it off, threw it in his pocket, then had his associates throw McGee in the back of the truck, which turned around and went back towards the shed.

**Washington**

After speaking with the Stillwater police chief, NCIS Director Leon Vance called Fornell to the Navy Yard; they then went into the Multiple Threat Alert Center room, where they discussed the situation with NCIS's Office of Special Projects out of Los Angeles.

"Four of our best agents are missing," Vance said. "We know where they may be. What we don't know is who or why."

"Any kind of message from the kidnappers?" asked G Callen, the Special Agent in Charge of the Special Ops team, on screen.

"None," Vance replied. "FBI will be running point. But I've told Agent Fornell I want Special Ops in on this. How soon can you be on site?"

"I can have our team on a Navy plane within the hour flying directly into Wilkes-Barre Scranton International, and from there by police escort," replied Special Ops director Hetty Lange.

"Do it," Vance said. "Special Ops will meet Fornell and the FBI on site."

**The forest, outside Stillwater**

McGee had the strangest dream.

He, Tony and Ziva were captured by thugs in black in some forest, and hauled away. Then he woke up in Abby's coffin, ate a breakfast of eggs benedict at her apartment, and drove her to work.

Tony was hitting on every other woman who passed by, Ziva was making jokes at his expense, and Gibbs kept passing through. McGee himself was trying to crack the internet.

And it was a sunny day outside, because the sun was peeking through the windows, smile and all.

Then everything got dark, and damp and cold.

And McGee remembered the first part of the dream - where they got captured by thugs - was reality.

He tried to stand up, but his head was pounding like a jackhammer and he could barely keep his balance. So McGee sat back down, and gave his eyes time to adjust to the lack of light.

He looked upward, and saw two square-sized holes, roughly one by two feet each, probably eight inches apart. There were stars, which meant that it was night, and clear, so he couldn't have been out more than eight hours.

He felt around, and noted he was in some sort of shed. He felt around for something, anything, but there was nothing other than himself.

He felt around some more, looking for a door; he felt two walls, and found the inside of the door at the third. Six feet high, double door. He pushed against it, and noted resistance in the middle, as if there was some sort of rope, or chain holding it in place.

_So I'm stuck in here, until they decide to open it. And I don't particularly want to wait around._

Although his head was still throbbing, McGee made himself keep on feeling, looking, making note of any and everything in his de facto prison cell. The walls, the holes in the ceiling, the wet, muddy ground.

It was a wonder he could stand at all and not sink, given how wet it was.

He ran his hands through the mud, again and again, and McGee noted how soft it was.

_So soft I could dig through it easily. So soft it's a wonder I'm not sinking..._

_Why didn't I think of it sooner? I can dig my way out._

_Why am I still here?_

McGee listened for signs of anyone or anything outside the shed; he only heard birds. Thankfully, no dogs, or men.

 _No time like the present,_  McGee thought.

It took some time to dislodge enough of the soft, clay-like dirt to create a hole he could crawl out underneath the back of the shed from; when he finally saw moonlight, he guessed it took 50 minutes to get away from the thing.

Now, he needed to get his bearings.

McGee, covered in dirt and mud, disheveled, looked around, saw a large building - probably a cabin, maybe a shack - and a larger shed next to it; a truck was parked in front.

He looked around; no one was asleep out front, nor in the cab of the truck. Then McGee looked around the cabin. He saw the silhouettes of three men asleep in the front room; in the window of what he assumed was the main bedroom, he saw the other two men, one on the floor, the other on a cot.

 _Clearly these aren't the smartest guys around,_  McGee thought. _I'd have someone awake to keep watch._

He went back to the truck, looking to see if anything of value was in the seat. He saw lugnuts, a wrench, a band-aid container, two empty beer bottles, a knife and a couple of cell phones - one of which looked like his own.

 _Whadya know,_  McGee thought.  _Something's hinky about this. Or these really ARE idiots I'm dealing with._

_Idiots that have my friends held hostage somewhere._

McGee quietly tried to open the driver's door, then the passenger door, both of which were locked. If he was going to get to those phones, he'd have to find another way in.

 _What are my options?_  he thought.

_Run, in unfamiliar terrain. I'm not even sure where the rental was parked, and if it's even there._

_Or break into this truck, get the phone, call NCIS, Stillwater, Mr. Gibbs, anybody...the latter seems to be the better option. Maybe if I was Superman, I could handle those guys with ease._

_What I better do is break the window._

McGee looked around for a rock, and something to muffle the sound; he found a coat on the ground.

 _My God,_  McGee thought, as he looked more closely at it.  _That's Gibbs' jacket._

McGee realized Gibbs would probably prefer he use the jacket to break the window, or at least keep warm. So he held it up against the driver's side window, and bashed it with the rock as hard - and quietly - as he could.

It took five tries to break the glass, and it wasn't nearly as quietly as he wanted.

 _Talk about smash and grab,_  McGee thought. He used the coat to keep from cutting himself on the broken glass, reaching in to open the door; he grabbed both cell phones, then started running.

The one which didn't work he quickly ditched; the other was his own, and it had more than enough of a charge, and, as luck had it, a good signal.

He called Vance.

"Director," he said after Vance picked up. "McGee-"

"McGee! Where the hell  _are_ you?"

McGee gave him the sitrep, filling him in on everything from their arrival in Stillwater to his present location.

"McGee, get  _out_ of there," Vance ordered. "I'm sending in Callen and Special Ops to work with the FBI. We've got a trace on your phone; we should be able to triangulate your position-"

"Whatever you're doing, you need to do it A-SAP," McGee said, unsure if he heard footsteps. "I think these guys have Gibbs, Tony AND Ziva."

"You saw them?" Vance said.

"I saw Gibbs' jacket," McGee replied. "I used it to break the window."

"I'm ordering you to keep running," Vance said.

"I can't leave them behind," McGee retorted.

"You don't know for certain they're even there," Vance replied. "We get those guys, we've got a chance at finding our people-"

McGee heard something, or someone, several yards behind him.

"Director, I've been  _made_ ," he said, running at a sprint. "I can't say how long I can keep going-"

"We're  _coming_ , McGee," said Vance, who heard someone being tackled to the ground, then sounds of something hitting the ground before the audio went dead.

**Washington**

"FLETCHER!" Vance said to one of the techies in MTAC, where the director had been since learning about Gibbs' disappearance. "Tell me you've got a trace on the phone!"

"Still do, sir," Fletcher answered. "We know about where he is - or  _was_."

"Send it to Callen, and to Fornell," Vance ordered, "and get them both on the line right away!"

**The cabin, outside Stillwater**

When McGee came to, his face and head throbbed and throbbed, and he could barely see.

He looked around, and saw a couple of lights in the room.

 _At least I'm not in that shed,_  he thought, as he struggled to take note of what surrounded him. A minute or two later, he discerned the five men, surrounding him, and himself laying on the ground, handcuffed and legs bound.

The goons were drinking - probably half-drunk - and sloppily eating out of potato chip bags and pizza boxes.

He saw one of them walk behind him, and yank his head 60 degrees to his right; there, he saw a laptop on top of two boxes piled vertically.

"He's their geek, ain't he?" one of the fatter goons bellowed. "He can get the stuff off that computer."

"How 'bout we beat the crap outta him first," said one of the skinner goons.

"Nah," the other fat goon said. "Then that laptop is useless to us."

"Pick him up, and find me a chair," said the leader, and McGee felt himself raised by his armpits. The leader pointed to the chair, and McGee was brusquely thrown onto it; he ended up knocking the chair over, falling hard onto his left shoulder.

As McGee stifled a yell and grit his teeth, he heard the leader curse, and order him to be placed back into the chair; he felt someone grab him by the back of his neck, and slam him into the metal folding chair.

This time, McGee didn't fall over. He looked down, at the keyboard, and then at himself.

He noticed mud all over his pants, and that he was barefoot, and then the blood and mud and cuts on his stomach and chest - and that he was shirtless.

And cold.

He saw only the laptop, with a log-in prompt to a website, and heard the goons behind him laughing, and cursing, and the leader scream at them to shut the blank up.

Then he felt the cold end of a pistol at his head.

"You're going to get us some information, punk," the leader growled. "You'll hack into your agency, download it onto this laptop, and maybe you'll get out of this alive."

"You know I  _can't_  do that," McGee said, resolute.

He saw the guy turn in front of him, cock his fist, and throw it - only to stop it four inches from his cheek, before he cursed some more.

"Wanna see your friends," he finally said after a minute of silence. "Dead or alive. Then you  _give_ me what I want."

"What  _is_  it you want?" McGee said.

" _This_ ," said the leader, showing him a sheet of paper with a note:

_NORFOLK NAVY YARD PLANS_   
_USS THEODORE ROOSEVELT SCHEMATICS_   
_SECNAV INTINERARY_

_SecNav's supposed to visit Norfolk this weekend,_  McGee thought.  _Tour the Navy Yard, speak there. Then visit the Roosevelt._

"You know I can't give you that information!" McGee said. "I'm a federal agent, sworn to uphold-"

The leader slapped him across the mouth, knocking him backward.

"GET HIM BACK UP! NOW!" the leader bellowed amidst a stream of vulgarities. McGee felt himself raised back up, and thrown into the folding chair in front of the laptop.

"You do what I want and I will show you where I put the bodies of your friends," the leader gloated.

It was the first time McGee allowed himself to think that the others might be dead - and he quickly dismissed the notion; he had to act as if they were alive.

"Show me their-show me they're alive, and take them somewhere where the authorities will find them, and I'll help you," McGee said.

"You're not in a position to negotiate," the leader said slowly.

"Then I won't help you."

"Then I'll blow your head off."

"And who's going to download your information  _then_?"

The leader pulled out his pistol, aiming it at McGee's forehead, then lowering it.

"Gimme his phone," the leader said, "and turn it on."

 _You're gonna lead them right to you, idiot,_  McGee thought.

"Boss," he heard someone say behind him, "ain't Arizona gonna be pissed? And what about our money-"

"Quiet," yelled the leader. "I'm busy."

The leader looked through McGee's phone, grinning and giggling.

"What's so funny?" McGee said, before feeling someone grab the back of his head.

"Want me to give him a crack, teach him to shut the hell up- he heard one of the goons yell.

"No," the leader replied. "You know, Agent McGee-"

_The guy knows my name. He knows how to find the address book in the operating system._

"-I've always wanted one of these iPhones. Let's see what you got here...notes..."

The leader seemed to be reading, and smiling, and then laughed out loud.

His buddies picked up on it and started laughing along with him.

"Hey boss," one of them said. "What are we  _laughing_  about?"

"This  _crap_ ," the leader said. "Get a load of this. Friends show their love in times of trouble, not in happiness. You Rip This."

**Forest**

"How close is this place, G?"

Sam Hanna, NCIS Special Agent, sat shotgun in the lead SUV of a caravan of NCIS and FBI agents and Stillwater Police Department vehicles.

The cabin was identified via satellite imagery and easier to find than anyone anticipated - not that there were any complaints.

It was decided that the caravan would approach the cabin quickly, while FBI agents flanked the building from its sides and the back.

"Not close enough, Sam," said G Callen, Sam's partner, driving the SUV. "Fornell. Any idea of who these guys might be?"

"None," said the FBI Senior Agent, riding in the back. "It's like they came out of the shadows."

"We're coming up on it," Callen said, as the caravan made its way on the lone dirt road winding through the forest. "Hundred yards."

"Stop," Fornell ordered, and the caravan came to a stop; six FBI agents poured out of one of the vehicles, making their way towards the cabin.

"We wait five minutes," Fornell said. "Give them time to get into position. Then we  _move_."

Five minutes later, Callen fired up the engine, and turned on the flashing red and blue lights, and sped towards the cabin.

The vehicles quickly moved into position around the cabin, their occupants jumping out, weapons aimed and armed.

The red, blue and white lights from their vehicles lit up the night and their engines shattered the silence; Fornell, Callen and the Stillwater police chief took the lead.

_"STILLWATER POLICE!"_

_"FBI!"_

_"NCIS!"_

_"COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!"_

**Cabin**

At that moment, whatever composure and reason four of the goons had completely abandoned them. Only the ringleader seemed to keep his senses.

"We  _negotiate_  for the bastard!" he yelled.

"Hell no!" two of the goons yelled in unison.

"And do  _what_?"

"Give up!"

"Give  _UP_! No! We  _shoot_ our way out of this!"

In the chaos, McGee heard gunshots behind him; saw the door kicked in, and agents rush in, shooting and grabbing him.

He felt and saw himself being carried outside by two big men while more agents fired into the cabin; he estimated they ran 40 yards, behind an array of police and FBI vehicles, before stopping.

"Get me bolt cutters!" the bigger one yelled; a few moments later, McGee felt his handcuffs being cut off, while the other agent cut the restraints on his legs and feet.

"Sam Hanna, NCIS," the bigger one said to McGee.

"Thought you looked familiar," McGee replied. "L.A."

"Special Ops," Hanna said. "Director Vance sent us as soon as he could. You okay?"

"I'm alive," McGee said, "and I'm hoping my team's the same way."

McGee saw Fornell running over to his position, while Hanna yelled for Callen.

"Technology came through on this one," Callen said, after making his way back to their position. "Between tracing your phone, and satellite imagery, it was fairly easy to find you."

"Tell us everything you can, McGee," Fornell said, and McGee recounted everything from his conversation with Jack Gibbs to the raid on the cabin.

The two goons who survived the raid gave up the location of Gibbs, Ziva and Tony, and told Fornell and Callen that they didn't know the identity of the man who hired them. He went by the code name Arizona, and he wired them their money, including a promised amount of $250,000 upon completion of their mission.

A mile away, the three agents were found in another shed, bound, given just enough leeway to lean over and drink out of a stale metal basket of water left for them.

All three were examined by medics, who ordered they be taken to the nearest hospital, in Scranton.

As everyone awaited the SUV that would take the injured agents to the helicopters waiting near Tony's rental car, Gibbs tried to speak to McGee.

"Jethro," Fornell said. "You don't need to talk. Rest."

"McGee," Gibbs said weakly, "nice work."

"Leave no man behind," McGee answered. "You told me that yourself once."

-END-


End file.
